


Tumbling Down (And Standing Back Up Again)

by AuroraKant



Series: Whumptober2020 [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: BAMF Dick Grayson, Buried Alive, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson Whump, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Enemies to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt Dick Grayson, Juts Two Bros Chillin' In A Cave In... Two Feet Apart Cuz They're Definitely Gay, M/M, Pre-Slash, Protective Slade Wilson, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, enemies to caretaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26880667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: “As I said, I will kill them.” Slade said.“Nah, you won’t.”With a small wave and another shit-eating grin, Dick stepped over the edge of the roof, letting himself fall down towards street level. Slade would follow. Why? Because he always did. It was like gravity, pulling the two of them closer together.Or: Dick meets Slade during a standard trafficking bust in Blüdhaven - everything gets more complicated from there on out.Day 7: Support | Carrying |Enemy To Caretaker
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: Whumptober2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948651
Comments: 32
Kudos: 307
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Tumbling Down (And Standing Back Up Again)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acidulication](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidulication/gifts).



> Hello my darling readers!  
> Hello my wonderful Nostra, who did [Amazing Art](https://acidulication.tumblr.com/post/631344753236230144/tumbling-down-and-standing-back-up-again-by) for this!!! And whom I hope enjoys this very much!  
> Also a shoutout to Huillian who betaed for me! :D  
> Comments, Feedback, Bookmarks and Kudos make my heart beat faster! You guys are the best! <3<3<3

“This is my job. What are you doing here?”

Slade’s voice sounded gruff, even from all the way across the roof. But then again, Slade always sounded gruff. Dick couldn’t let that be the determining factor to figure out if Deathstroke the Terminator (Hah! And people made fun of Robin) would be willing to help.

“It might be your job, but this is my city. Which kind of automatically makes this my job as well,” yelled Dick.

Slade seemed unimpressed, but then again, most of his face was obscured by a mask and the distance between them. Dick would have loved to get closer; conversations and negotiations so much easier if he were able to read the body of his counterpart. But if Slade was truly in a bad mood, it would be very… counterintuitive to get close enough for the man to nerve strike him.

“Go away, kid. This is nothing you want to get your hands dirty with.”

“Since they are human trafficker working from my city, I am pretty sure that I have some rather personal reasons for wanting them gone.”

Slade was a Bad Guy. Dick knew that. Batman knew that. The entire Justice League knew that.

But he wasn’t necessarily a _bad man_ , if you understood what Dick was implying. At least not all the time. Maybe that was why Dick had come to talk to Slade before he dismantled the human trafficking ring all by himself. Nightwing’s sources weren’t clear whether Slade had been hired by the traffickers or the competition and Dick…

Okay, you might call him foolish, you might call him a senseless romantic who always hoped for the best, but Dick had to make sure that Slade wasn’t being paid by these assholes.

And it made sense to check with the man first.

If Dick didn’t ask for confirmation beforehand, the two of them would have ran into each other in the warehouse beneath their feet, and Dick would have had no idea whether Slade was working with him or against him.

Coming at the situation like this, with some remnant of believe in the good of Slade’s burned out heart still existing, made it easier. More predictable.

If Slade had really sunken that low, that fast, then Dick would fight against him here. They would battle it out on this roof, and it would end with Slade leaving the city and breaking Dick’s heart in the process.

And if Slade was working for the competition of the assholes currently preparing another shipment? Well, then the two of them could fight side by side, maybe even share some tender moments of never resolved sexual tension, before Slade had to leave again to commit some crimes far away from Blüdhaven.

And Dick would go and try to stop him another time.

Sooner rather than later, Slade would break his heart – even if there was rather little to break; the most romantic thing that had ever happen between them was a touch of two gloved hands as both of them had reached for a bomb they needed to defuse three years ago. The contact hadn’t even lasted a moment, but it was one of the only times they hadn’t been engaged in a fight when their bodies met.

“Earth to Birdbrain. I told you to go.”

Dick snapped back into the present, his eyes almost immediately focusing on Slade. The man had given up his position on the other side of the roof, moving towards Dick with big, deliberate steps. There was something dangerous in his gait, but it was mostly the elegance of a panther that entranced Dick. That had always fascinated him.

“And I told you, that that is more than unlikely. Which – honestly – you should know by now. We have danced this particular tango enough times for that,” Dick said.

“Pah, _dancing_.”

Slade was close enough that Dick could see the scratches on his mask and the streetlight reflecting off the orange parts of his uniform. Deathstroke had always been an imposing figure, tall and dark and---- well, Dick knew that Slade was handsome, but his costume really didn’t tell you that. No, that was something you learned after you infiltrated the man’s super-secret villain society.

What a shit time that had been – but seeing Slade without the orange and black had been one of the few good things Dick had found out while he was undercover. 

“What would you call it? _Training_? But for whom? I beat you four out of five times, after all.”

Dick offered Slade his most shit-eating grin, flashing all his teeth in something he knew resembled the smile of a predator. Tim had told him so, after Dick had used that same exact grin to tell Bruce he should go and fuck himself during their last fight.

“I would call it a nuisance.”

It was fun to banter with Slade, to let himself get dragged down in the familiar currents of nonchalance and quips, but there were lives on the line here. There was a mission that needed to be successful – and as much as Dick liked to curse Bruce sometimes, he was still a son of the Bat.

He was still a man that would always focus on the mission first.

“Who do you work for, Slade? The bastards down there trading in human life, or some other asshole with more money than they need?”

For a long moment Slade was silent, his gaze heavy, even though Dick couldn’t see his eyes. But Slade’s gaze was always heavy, always loaded with implications and expectations and forbidden desires. Or maybe that was just Dick, projecting his own complicated past with the man onto him.

When Slade spoke, his voice was silent, almost dangerously so:

“I was hired to make sure these men would never ship anyone ever again.”

“So, you’re planning on killing them.”

“Of course. I don’t plan on playing according to your Bat-shaped rulebook, boy. Not even in your city.”

Whenever Dick got too close, whenever he managed to push past the walls Slade had built, the man pushed back by belittling him, by calling him ‘boy’ or ‘kid’ or ‘young’. It was infuriating. It was insulting. But Dick had long ago learned how to play men like these.

“We will see about that. Because I am sure as hell gonna dismantle this trafficking ring. And I don’t think your clients are inclined to pay you, if it was Nightwing who did your job.”

“As I said, I will kill them.”

“Nah, you won’t.”

With a small wave and another shit-eating grin, Dick stepped over the edge of the roof, letting himself fall down towards street level. Slade would follow. Why? Because he always did. It was like gravity, pulling the two of them closer together.

It was time to take down some traffickers.

Dick let the man slip out of the chokehold as soon as he felt his assailant’s muscles relax. He didn’t want to accidentally kill the guy just because he was distracted by the body moving on the other side of the warehouse.

Slade had left his guns behind, just as Dick knew he would. And yet he was a party on the dance floor, fighting with grace – and pure brutality. People often described Dick’s own fighting style as a mixture of beauty and grace, with surprising hints of lethality… but these people had never seen Slade fight.

Yes, Dick’s movements were more fluid, less bound to the earth, but Slade… when Slade wanted to hit something, he simply hit it. His movements were too fast for the human eye, and yet they were so straightforward. He was the simple grace of a perfectly executed form. He was like earth and fire, where Dick was air and water.

During their own spars and fights and battles – ranging from well-intentioned trainings exercises to life or death situations on different sides of the morality spectrum – Dick had won more often than not. But that was because he had looked at Deathstroke and taught himself what the man had internalized.

Dick would never be a super-soldier – or a super mercenary in this case – but he would always be the very best a human could aim for. He had learned how Slade moved and ticked and trained – and then he had learned how to remain victorious even in the face of great adversary.

There was still a rather high chance that Deathstroke might win a battle against the mighty Nightwing – which was not the only reason why fighting side by side was so much more fun than fighting against each other – but Dick had done his very best to make sure that that percentage was as small as any human could push it.

The sound of fighting died down as Slade finished off the last of the men still opposing them. There were less people laying on the floor surrounding them than Dick’s intel had predicted, but Dick was not about to look a gift horse into its muzzle.

Dick’s muscles burned, the adrenaline leaving his body now that no one was trying to shoot him anymore. He turned around, his eyes sweeping through the room, checking the entrances and crates, before his gaze landed on Slade once more.

The man had finished sheathing his sword – a sword that was thankfully rather free from excessive amounts of blood – taking his own assessment of the situation before turning towards Dick. Slade was looking at him, and Dick was ready to make a quip about his irresistible charm, when his ears picked up what Slade had probably already sensed: a low rumbling sensation.

“Grayson! Run!” Slade yelled.

Dick’s legs obeyed before he could think about it, carrying him towards the next door. But he was too slow – or he had started running too late.

Before he could reach the doorway, his fingers almost brushing against the metal of the entrance, the floor underneath his feet crumbled away. For a precarious moment he was hanging in the air, the world still intact and yet broken… and then everything happened at the same time.

The sounds of the explosion hit, as did the heat, and Slade crashed into his body, both of them falling down into the hole that had opened up beneath them. Dick had only time to blink once, dust and fire and orange filling his vision before his back connected with something hard and painful and-

Before his vision turned black.

Dick blinked his eyes open only to be greeted by darkness.

Darkness with small dancing flecks of light… He blinked a couple of times, and slowly the darkness began to shape itself, and the lights turned into a person.

Slade.

Why was Slade wherever he was? And why… why did his entire body hurt?

His head was throbbing with the headache of the century, and his entire back was on fire. Now that Dick was awake, the pain grew so intense, so consuming, he could feel his breath hitch. The air he managed to get into his lungs tasted of ash and dust, and Dick pressed down the urge to cough with a wince. Some part of himself that was still capable of self-preservation and logical thought knew that even the smallest movement of his upper body would only intensify the pain.

Instead he tried to breathe through it, and finally – finally – Slade seemed to notice Dick’s newly gained consciousness as well.

“You are awake.”

“You called me Grayson.”

Dick’s voice was barely a whisper, a weak thing in contrast with the strength Slade exhibited when he spoke. But with Slade’s words, Dick’s memories returned, and suddenly nothing seemed as important as telling Slade that he had heard just what the man had yelled before the explosion hit.

Not that Slade cared:

“Awake and already annoying, I see. How are you feeling?”

Dick finally spotted just what was illuminating this small alcove they had found themselves in: an emergency glowstick from his very own utility belt.

“Hey… that is my glowstick…”

“Extreme situations call for extreme measures. And I asked you something. Where are you hurt?”

Slade’s voice was all business and Dick tried to concentrate on it – he really did – but it was just so hard with the lights dancing over broken rocks and concrete, with small orange disks being reflected by Slade’s suit.

“Grayson! Focus!”

“You said my name again.”

“Yes. Because it is _your name_ , idiot.”

“Look! You always call me something like that… like idiot when you are scared.”

Slade fell silent next to Dick, and only now did Dick realize how small the space they were hidden in truly was. A cave in, his failing brain told him. They had been caved in when the warehouse exploded. And now… and now Dick was injured, and Slade was worried and coherent thoughts were getting harder and harder.

“I am not scared of you.”

“Oh, but you are… I make you soft and you don’t like it.”

“Shut up, Grayson, and tell me where you are hurt.”

“I’m not-“

A cough forced itself out of Dick’s throat and with it came waves of horrible pain tearing away at his spine, pushing hot coals of hurt deep inside his body. Dick wanted to scream. Maybe he did. He wouldn’t know because for a horrible second that never seemed to end, his world was searing white.

He returned to his senses, guided by the frantic voice of Slade:

“Grayson. Fuck. Grayson, look at me! That is an order!”

Dick’s eyes snapped open and his gaze found Slade’s eyes, the face no longer hidden behind the mask of Deathstroke. The lights dancing through his vision now had little to do with reflections of actual light, no, they were remnants of pain reminding him of what would happen should he dare to move again.

“I am not your subordinate…”

Where Dick’s voice had been weak before, it no longer could even be called a voice now. His cough had left him breathless and no matter what he did, he didn’t manage to pull another satisfying breath inside his lungs.

“And that is not the point. I need to know where you are hurt.”

Slade sounded honestly concerned, and the worry in his voice let something stir inside of Dick. Maybe it was his feelings for Slade that Dick had tried to ignore, or maybe it was the realization that he had to be in a bad condition for Slade to be out of his mind like this.

It didn’t really matter, since it was enough either way to get Dick to actually answer: “Back. My back… hurts so bad, I’m not sure if anything else is… hurt too, but my back…”

“I get it, boy. Now let me check for a spinal cord injury.”

Slade was all business, and Dick let him. This couldn’t be easy for Slade either, and it would be a real dick move to tease the man while he was trying to help. Dick tried to focus solely on his breathing while Slade poked first his left and then his right leg, both touches sending sparks of pain through his entire body.

Okay, so Dick was fucked. But at least his spine was still working.

Even if Dick would welcome a lack of pain right about now.

It didn’t take long until Slade returned to his former position, a dark and serious look on his face. Dick knew that he wouldn’t like whatever Slade had to say even before he heard it, so instead of staying silent he pushed another quip past his numbing lips:

“And doctor? What is the prognosis?”

“The prognosis is that you better hope that that Bat-clan of yours reaches us fast.”

“Aw, shit…”

Some crazy part of Dick’s brain wanted to laugh at the direness of the situation. Maybe that was the fear. He was caved in underneath a warehouse in Blüdhaven, with only a mercenary by his side, who had the loosest sense of morality and duty. Who Dick was hopelessly in love with.

Maybe his brain was overcompensating.

“I pressed that emergency button on your uniform. I hope that means they will find you.”

“Oh, so you do care…”

Slade’s face was stony, and Dick was almost glad that he hadn’t commented on the fact that he was well aware what it meant for Slade to activate Dick’s beacon. Because while Dick only rarely tried to catch and arrest Deathstroke anymore, Bruce had a different approach to the killer. The villain.

Slade was endangering himself because he knew it was Dick’s only chance.

Wow, that was almost sweet.

“I don’t know what you mean, _brat_.”

This time around Dick had to laugh. It was adorable how Slade still tried to hide his feelings behind an insult so thin, even Jason would be able to see it for what it was: a show of affection. They were in a complicated situation, the two of them, whether Batman reached them fast enough or not.

Because… Dick knew how he felt, and Slade was more than aware of his own feelings, and yet both of them knew that the extent of their relationship would always be stolen moments like these: short breaks between endless fights, when one of them was hurt or exhausted or in pain.

Dick went to say something, but his chest chose this moment to remember just how badly the fall had affected it. How deeply he was hurt.

The steel band pressing air from his lungs only tightened, and for a few horrible, horrible seconds Dick was completely void of air. He pressed his eyes closed; the darkness so much more daunting otherwise.

Slade’s hands were rough when they pressed against his forehead, rough and cold against the heat radiating from Dick’s body:

“Breathe.”

And Dick did.

After a couple of minutes his lungs stopped burning, but Dick couldn’t help himself and wonder if his lips had started turning blue. If the lack of oxygen was already visible in his nailbeds and his pallor. He was exhausted. He was exhausted and in pain but at least Slade was here.

At least he wasn’t alone.

“Thank you…”

“Nothing to thank me for… Grayson.”

Dick smiled and it felt like a herculean effort to mumble: “You called me by my name.”

“That I did.”

Silence fell over their little cavern, the light of the glowstick and the hand caressing his cheek – Slade hadn’t stopped doing that ever since Dick’s lungs had seized – the only things keeping Dick alert. He would lose consciousness soon.

It was Slade who broke first, maybe because it was for once easier for him to talk than it was for Dick:

“I told you to stay out of this. I would have handled them alone. There was no need for you to get hurt.”

“I never liked following… orders… and I won’t… start now.”

It took a couple of semi-deep breaths and almost a minute for Dick to force the sentence out, but he did it. Slade only scoffed as he heard what Dick had almost killed himself for to say. On someone else that look would have been murderous, but Dick was pretty sure, that Slade’s expression was one of love.

What a sweet, horrible, moral mess they were.

“You are an idiot, Grayson.”

“But I am _your idiot_.”

“Hah.”

“And… and you are mine.”

Now Slade was laughing, and it was a funny sound, maybe because Dick couldn’t remember when he had last heard it. But then again, remembering things in general became harder with each failed attempt to breathe, with each searing pain that coursed through his back as soon as Dick dared to move.

Silence fell once more, his own desperate gasps the only thing echoing through their shared space. When Slade spoke again, nothing humorous was left in his voice:

“Do you think your family is going to come?”

“If… If… they got the… signal… yes. Always.”

For a second Slade’s hand tightened and Dick feared that his answer had been the wrong one, but then Slade continued to ease Dick’s suffering just by being there. Just by giving him this soft touch and the tenderness Deathstroke offered to no one.

“Then I hope they get here soon.”

“Sa… same…”

Dick let his eyes fall closed, the soft smile on Slade’s lips the last thing he saw, the warm hand against his cheek the last thing he felt, the melodic humming of the deep voice the only thing in his ears. He let the darkness claim him, air no longer moving past his lips.

He let the darkness claim him, Slade by his side.

The world was white when Dick managed to pry his eyes open. It was white and smelled of antiseptic and wet stone.

The Cave.

He was in the Cave. Alive.

In the distance he could hear the faint sound of the bats chatting and demanding food, and next to him a monitor beeped, probably to inform the rest of the world that Dick had woken up. He was awake. He was awake, and he no longer felt like dying.

There was still a strange and heavy sensation laying over his chest, making breathing uncomfortable and tight, and Dick had the vague feeling that the only thing keeping him from crying in pain was the good stuff Alfred had hooked him up with.

But still… Dick had been in this game for long enough to know when something was a serious injury and when someone was on the mend. And right now, Dick belonged firmly in the second category.

His brain checked all the boxes routinely: he could still recognize his surroundings, he could feel all his limbs, he was coherent, and he was in no noteworthy amount of pain. Probably all thanks to---

Slade.

His mental exercise came to a screeching halt, Dick unable to keep his eyes from scanning the Cave. Slade wasn’t be here, and why would he? The Bat and the Mercenary weren’t known for playing well together.

But… what had happened to the man that ended with Dick alive and well in the nest of his brood and Slade nowhere in sight? Had he been arrested by Bruce? Had he managed to flee?

Dick had the sudden realization that he would have to wait to get answers. There was no way he would be able to leave the medical bed behind, and if Bruce didn’t feel inclined to answer his questions, Dick would most likely only gain the independence to search by himself in a couple of weeks.

He knew the feeling of broken bones and his spine was most likely bruised. Dick wouldn’t leave any kind of bed without help for at least the upcoming month. He was sick of it already.

A sound behind him forced Dick to return his attention to the present and his surroundings, Jason standing in the doorway of the med bay:

“Oh, Golden boy woke up. B will be pissed. Alfred had to drug him to get him away from your bedside.”

“Wha-?”

Dick’s mouth was dry, and a painful cough startled his ribs – ribs that were most likely broken and at fault for the tight feeling accompanying every breath. Jason acted fast, putting an ice chip between Dick’s lips, a sardonic smile, that barely hid his relief, on his face as he did so:

“You almost died on us. Only dear little Deathstroke ensured that Bruce had a son left to save when we reached the warehouse.”

“Slade?”

Dick was still groggy, maybe that was why he was so blunt. Or maybe he had just truly passed beyond the ability to care, after an entire building got dropped on him.

“Yeah, Slade. Honestly, I don’t wanna know what the fuck exactly is going on between the two of you, but he gave me this before he evaded Daddy-Bat’s rather pitiful attempts to bring him in.”

Jason pushed a folded and creased piece of paper in Dick’s limb hand before turning around again and striding out of the room: “I am happy you are alive, by the way. This is gonna be great blackmail material in about a year. Don’t die, oh, and let the message disappear before Bruce is here in a minute or so.”

With that, Dick’s brother was gone, leaving him with nothing but this piece of paper and the beginnings of a headache. A message. From Slade? Apparently. The man had managed to escape, not that Dick had truly believed otherwise. But it was always better to know for sure – information was key.

His fingers were clumsy as he fumbled with the small paper, almost ripping it in half before he managed to unfold it. He still wasn’t at his best, wouldn’t be for a long time, but his curiosity needed to be fed.

As soon as he saw what Slade’s message contained, Dick couldn’t hide his smile.

It was simple. Only eight words and a couple of numbers:

“ _Call me as soon as you’re better_ , idiot – _XXX 3113 900_ ”


End file.
